Though She Were Dead
by Heart Iconography
Summary: "Maybe a man can love a broken thing, if he too, himself, is broken."
1. Chapter 1

_**AN: **I keep trying to update Life &amp; Death, but this story continues rattling around in my head, making it impossible. Thought I'd put it down and maybe it'll become something, or maybe it will leave me alone. Hope you like it, at the very least._

* * *

She woke up one day.  
She woke up.

Herself and a man. An abandoned church. She woke up wanting to swing; out of the darkness, to find another darkness inside of her. She wanted to die. To have died. Not this. She saw the creatures - _walkers,_ he had called them - and felt jealousy. They were free, or at least, they weren't aware they were trapped inside their skin, which knew enough itself to try to leave its bones and rot.

"Go," she managed, trying to pull herself out of his grasp.

"You're not going anywhere. You'd die out there!" the man snapped at her. He called himself Morgan. She called him nothing. "Don't you get that? You're barely healed."

"Die," she countered, eyes narrowing on his face.

"You're in no shape to make threats," he threw casually over his shoulder, walking over the window to stare out into the wilderness.

"Die," she tried again, pressing her hand against her chest. _Me, _she wanted to say, _let me go crawl away somewhere to die. _"Go! Die!"

"Stop it," Morgan snapped at her. "I've got enough blood on my hands. I'm not adding yours to the list, and I sure as hell haven't played nursemaid for the past two months to have you go off yourself. You hate your situation? Join the club! Focus your anger. Help me clear! We're here to clear! To find Rick and to clear!"

She snorted. There was no one left. Didn't Morgan get that? And even if there were, would the people not be like them? Morgan, barely holding it together, and her - unable to remember anything, brain at risk of getting sunburned through a bullet hole that blew her head open? Did he not understand it was over.

"No - no," she pushed out. "No one."

"Rick isn't dead," Morgan said with an air of finality. "You don't know him. Hell, you don't even know your own name. What made you the authority on this situation? Maybe figure out how to string a sentence together and I'll let you have a say."

Her response was cold and calculated - in one easy movement she knocked the crate that had been doubling as a table over. Wood slammed into wood, loud in the silence, water spilling around them - wasted. Morgan growled low in his throat, fisting his hands at his sides.

"You want to bring the walkers to us, huh?" Morgan spat at her. "You might want to die, but I don't, and I'll tie you up again if I have to. You don't have to like me, or agree with me, but you're coming along for the ride. Once you're better, I can train you. Have you fight like I can fight. You won't feel so bad then. Not once you start clearing. Clearing them - clearing your head. It gets better, kid."

The man was stubborn. Stubborn and terrible. Possibly crazy, but never violent - not towards her. He barely spoke to her. Avoided touching her when he could, especially since she hated it. Was he a good man or a bad man, she didnt know. Couldn't remember enough of anything to make a judgment like that. Maybe he was a bit of both.

"Stup -" she tried and failed. "Stup - stup -"

"Stupid?" Morgan asked, and watched her nod, as she smirked at him almost hatefully. "I agree, you are acting awfully stupid today. Maybe tomorrow will be better, huh?"

* * *

**2 months later:**

"Tired already?" Morgan mocked her, swinging his fist out as she ducked.

"Ha!" she exclaimed simply, kicking his knee and swiftly knocking his feet out from under him. Before Morgan could blink she had her knife on him, pressing against his throat, eyes glittering cold and hard. "You. Dead."

"Thought we talked about the full sentences," Morgan said, pushing her off and standing up himself. "If you talk like that, people are going to think you're slow and easy to take advantage of."

"And they'll be wrong," she ground out. "And then they'll be dead."

"Better not to get into it," he said. "We're not warriors here. You're not invincible."

"Got a big scar that might prove otherwise," she said, clucking her tongue.

"You would've died from that had I not found you," he responded, handing her a gun to clean. She had learned quickly. Her hands were small and thin and sure. She was faster than him now. Part of her wondered if she had done this before. She must have.

"Did," she said pointing at him, then she turned her finger at herself, "didn't."

"You're doing it again," he reminded her.

Learning how to talk had been a slow and frustrating process. She had the words, could hear them inside her head, but when it came to pushing them out - sometimes the fat got trimmed off her sentences without her knowledge. Words got stalled, or stopped, or dropped completely. It still took a concentrated effort, and she didn't bother most of the time. She didn't have much to say, after all.

"Just us," she said indifferently.

"It won't always be just us," Morgan reminded her. She felt her body tense up at his words. Morgan was the only person she had met - the only person she knew. Or could remember knowing. The thought of more people, alive people, made her nervous in a way that she hated and mostly tried to ignore. "We're leaving in a couple days."

"I know," she bit out.

"You still need a name," Morgan told her. "It doesn't bother me much because you aren't exactly chatty, but I need something to call you - when we get there, I'll need to introduce you."

"Phoenix," she joked. "Not dead, not dead. I have risen!"

"Would you take this seriously?" he asked. "Just pick something simple. Like Hanna, or Amber."

"Phoenix," she said again, knowing it bothered him. She had no intention of ever having a name again. She was no one. Nothing. A shadow, armed and ready to kill. When Morgan turned to look at her, she flapped her arms. "Phoenix."

"You won't always be so lucky," Morgan warned her.

And in the place where this or that would sometimes float up inside of her, wisps of somethings small enough to be nothings, she quoted: _"I am the resurrection and the Life. He that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die."_


	2. Chapter 2

She was looking at her hands - the thin fingers, the blue veins. So much, just under the surface. Blood, and guts, and gore... all held together with skin. She remembered Morgan changing her bandages; how the red had browned like dying poppies. But here she was, still, in the middle of nowhere. Thirteen days on the road, chasing ghosts.

"What are you looking at?" he asked her. "Y'alright?"

"Thinking," she responded, pushing at a cuticle, ignoring the dirt and blood under her nails.

"About the men?" Morgan asked.

The day before they had come across a group of them - three, to be exact. They had claimed they only wanted to take half their supplies and leave. Of course, Morgan was only waiting for his moment, but when they grabbed her... all the training effortlessly flowed from her, taking two of them down easily. She had stepped over their dead bodies, leaving Morgan, who had already put down the third, to make sure the others didn't turn.

"Weapons," she said, holding up her hands for him, showing the front than the back - blanking on the words to explain.

"... they can be," Morgan said quietly. "When you have to use 'em like that."

"Always," she said with an air of finality.

"Always what, P?" he asked, using the nickname he had given her, refusing to call her Phoenix.

"They... will always be," she said, "weapons. Can't undo."

"Maybe not," he said.

She appreciated that Morgan never tried to comfort or sugar-coat. He spoke his mind, and if it broke someone's heart, then so be it. Of course, she wasn't sad. Not exactly. The men had deserved it. Had wanted to kill her - maybe worse - because even now, she still knew there were things worse than death - like this. Like knowing, somehow, that something inside of her was broken because even her bones felt cold. She had killed. Like it was nothing. And it almost was... nothing... to her.

"Further?"

"Try again," Morgan said, still pushing her to speak. Always pushing her.

"How much?" she said, tongue feeling clumsy. "How much further we got?"

"A while," he said. "It ain't exactly a science anymore."

"Done?" she asked. "Should we?"

"Yeah. We're done for tonight."

"Tell me about the man? About... Rick?" she questioned.

"Again, P?" he asked, sounding tired.

"I want..." she said, pushing her hair out of her face, "I want... to be... ready. In case."

"There's no _in case, _P. I told you that," he said, looking into her eyes. "I told you he's a good man. He won't do anything to hurt us."

"In case."

* * *

In her dreams there was always fire. Orange, and red, and yellow - rising, billowing; but she wasn't afraid. She was stood outside of it, watching. She could smell the smoke. Taste it. Could hear each ember crack and pop in the darkness all around the burning light that threatened to eat up everything.

_"I wish I could just... change." _

The same six words. Always her voice. Softer, somehow. Easier. Wavering. Possibly hurt. Possibly trying to hide it. She would wake and wonder if it was a memory - not a dream. If this minute long scene that stretched and repeated was nothing more than her remembering something...

_Did I ask for this? _she wonders. _Change. _The way she does not recognize her body, or the feelings inside. _Did I want this? Probably not. Probably should've been more specific. _In her dreams, the stars always look closer than they are - seem more real.

_You should've held on,_ she thinks to herself - at herself - as though the person she used to be is someone that exists outside of her now. _You should've... you shouldn't have let go. Nothing feels like this anymore. You're gone. _

_You're just gone._

* * *

"Again," she demands grimly.

They have been walking for hours, the sun hot on their necks. They're following Morgan's map - praying to come across a car. Something to make it easier. Faster. She watches the annoyed tick of his jaw, the gnash of his teeth. Morgan is sick of her. She expects a fight, but instead he sighs and gives in.

"His name is Rick Grimes. Found him wandering in the middle of the street. He had been in a coma, didn't know anything about what had happened. He helped me and... he helped me find guns, left me with a walkie-talkie because... I had something I needed to do before I could go... go with him."

"Walkie...?"

"It's like a phone... but... it's not important. It was just a way for us to hear each other. To keep in touch. It didn't work anyway. He came across me, holed up in a town, clearing."

"Cop?" she asked. "Right?"

"He was a sheriff," Morgan said. "Yes."

"Good?" she asked. "Good with gun?"

"Had to be," he responded. "He's a good guy, P. You know I wouldn't be leading us into this if I thought it'd get us killed."

"And if..." she asked, "If he's... dead? Or... if he's... wrong?"

"Wrong?" he asked. "Like a walker?"

"No," she said shaking her head, and pointing at herself, "if he's _wrong..._"

Morgan sighed heavily, shaking his head, refusing to respond. She wasn't sure if it was because of what she implied about herself, or because of what would happen if Rick was messed up, too. She worried about Morgan - about how wholly he relied on this idea of a man she had never met; as though all of his hope was balled up in finding Rick, and if it didn't work out... where would that leave her? Or Morgan?

_Clearing, _she answered herself. _We all got jobs to do. _

"Further?" she asked to break the silence.

"You're like a broken record!" he muttered.

"What's that?" she asked, not understanding.

"What's a record?" he asked. When she nodded, he continued, "You know, people used to record themselves singing. Playing music. It was a big disc."

"Singing," she said flatly. "Waste."

"Waste of time?" Morgan guessed, trying to fill in the blank.

"Big," she nodded, adding, "big waste."


	3. Chapter 3

_Almost there. _Those two words, like a prayer, muttered under Morgan's breath again and again. DC had been a bust - the map had been a bust. Rick was no where to be found; she couldn't say she was surprised. She looked over at Morgan, trying to find something comforting to say. She could feel him slipping into darkness, into what it was like before her - before she knew him. The long years he talked about like a fever dream - clearing, and not much else.

"Drink," she said, handing her water bottle over to him.

She had been expecting a fight, but he took it without comment, downing half the contents recklessly. The plastic crinkled dismally. _Another run, _she thought to herself. At least he was drinking though, and talking - though, if only to himself. At least he hadn't given up or shut down.

"Now?" she asked. When he looked at her questioningly, she tried again. "What... what now?"

"Find Rick," he answered succinctly.

"Maybe... gone," she pushed out.

"He's not here, but he's somewhere, P," Morgan said, handing the bottle back to her. "You just have to have a little faith."

"So?" she asked, pointing at the map sticking out of his coat pocket. "Where?"

"Heard about a place with walls some time back. Alexandria. It's not far from here, we could make it before sun down. Knowing Rick, that's where they were headed."

She wanted to say, _Look around you, Morgan. All of these buildings have walls. And all of those walls now contain walkers. You think this place will still be up? Still be safe? You think walls can keep the death out? _Instead she nodded grimly, not wanting to upset him further. As they walked, she wondered what would happen when they arrived there - when there was nothing, or no one, or what was left was less than he expected.

* * *

Walls hadn't begun to describe Alexandria. Miles before they reached the place, she could see them towering in the skyline, seemingly endless. Sprawling on and on. Protecting. Holding. Containing. Of course, there was no telling what was inside of them - walkers or people - or which would be worse.

They stood outside of the walls, finding no signs or people. She brandished her knife, always ready, always waiting. She didn't have to look to know Morgan had done the same, even in his flagging mood. For a moment, a long moment, they just stood there. Not moving or speaking. Staring. Morgan, hoping - and her, dreading. The weight of sick weighed heavily in her stomach.

"Knock?" she asked breaking the silence.

"Don't see any door," he said, huffing out a tired laugh. "Thinkin' we mighta came up on this place at the wrong side."

"Holler?" she suggested.

"Just... be ready. Stay behind me. Cover me. And try to use full sentences when you speak. We both know you aren't weak or slow, but no one else does, and painting a target on your back would be a mistake. Even if you can get out of it. Better to just... not. Okay, P?"

"You got... it," she said, doing her best.

Suddenly a head appeared over the wall, looking down at them, gun pointed. It was an older man with dirty blond hair. He looked shocked to see the pair of them standing there. Morgan shielded more of her body with his shoulder, and she found it hard to get a look at the man on the other side of the wall.

"Thought I heard voices," the man said.

"We don't want any trouble," Morgan responded. "We've been looking for a friend. Thought he might've found his way here."

"Right," the man said. "And does this friend have a name?"

"Rick," Morgan bit out, annoyed. "His name is Rick Grimes."

The man stopped for a moment - stopped talking, stopped moving, maybe even stopped breathing. Her heart sped up. He knew Rick. It was obvious. The man ducked down behind the wall, whispering to someone else, and then looked back up.

"Who are you?" the man asked. "Your names."

"My name is Morgan. This is my friend. She goes by P."

"You can't talk for yourself?" the blond man asked, directing his question at her.

"My name... is Phoenix," she ground out.

"That's a weird name."

"That's why... the nickname," she responded.

"Come to the side, over to the left. You'll see the gates. Drop your weapons by the front. If that doesn't mesh with you, then you're free to walk outta here and not look back, okay?"

Morgan nodded but didn't speak. She followed him around to the side. It took them at least ten minutes to get to the gate. They laid down their weapons, both having others strapped to their bodies, hidden underneath clothes. Still, it was the gesture. A show of good faith, and if that's what the man needed for answers, than she knew that's what she'd be doing.

When the gates opened, two men were standing there, with several other people a few feet behind them - men, women, even a kid or two. Neither of them were the blond. She peeked over Morgan's shoulder trying to get a better look. The man lowering his pointed gun had a shocked smile on his face, the corners of his lips kept twitching upwards. The other, with longer hair, kept his loaded crossbow up and ready. Waiting. Dangerous.

"God damn, it is you. Never thought I'd see you again, friend! Though I guess I shouldn't be surprised you're still alive," the smiling man laughed. Then, to the people behind him, watching and waiting, he said, "He is who he said he was. Morgan. This man saved my life."

"I told you, P," Morgan said to her, not looking back. "I told you he'd make it."

"She can come out from behind you there," Rick said. "You guys are safe here. I'm sure Morgan's told you about us. We're good people. We won't hurt you."

She stayed rooted where she was. Her glance kept the other man in her eye line. His crossbow still hadn't lowered, and she had a feeling if he shot something, he hit the mark every time. He was making her nervous. If they were good people, why was he still aiming at Morgan?

"Daryl," Rick said, "put your crossbow down. I think you're scaring her."

"Right," the other man drawled sheepishly, lowering his weapon. "Sorry."

"You don't need to mind him," Rick vouched for his friend. "He's a good shot, that's for damn sure, but we've been through a lot. Lost a lot of people. He just wants to keep everyone here safe."

"Wasn't... scared of him," she said, stepping out from behind Morgan.

She heard a gasp, then another. Whispering. Shouting for a woman named Maggie. Everyone looked shocked, except for the bowman. Daryl looked... betrayed. It was only when he glanced to everyone around him, that his eyes widened on her own with disbelief.

"Beth?" he asked, hands shaking, weapon fallen to the ground. Suddenly he was charging towards her, all limbs moving fast, "Beth!"

She grabbed the knife from underneath her shirt fluidly, holding it up at him. Morgan got to Daryl before she could though, holding him back with a hand on his chest. The man stopped when he saw the fear in her eyes, the uncertainty.

"God damn it, let me go," he said, "I ain't gonna hurt her. Beth, tell him I ain't gonna hurt ya!"

"I don't know him," she said to Morgan, voice flat and small.

"She was with us," Rick said. "We thought... she was shot... in the head. There was so much blood and no time. There was no time, we got overrun. We had to go."

"Beth," Daryl said again, blue eyes showing his hurt so strongly it threatened to take her breath away. "We didn't mean to leave ya there. We were... I carried ya out."

"She was half-buried when I found her," Morgan said. "The walkers were swarming her."

Her head was swimming, trying to take in all the new information. She had known these people - they said they knew her. They were there when she was shot and left for dead - they left her for dead! And they kept calling her Beth. She rolled the name around, feeling no attachment to it.

"We didn't... bury her," Daryl said, hands fisting at his sides. "There wasn't time. We all thought ya died and we didn't even get t'say goodbye."

"Could've been the people at the hospital," Rick said. "Everyone there... they were real fond of you, Beth. You always had that way about you - of makin' people take to you."

"Why would... doctors... when I was... not dead?" she asked. "I was not... dead."

"It wasn't a regular hospital. There was only one doctor - the nursing staff were just patients they had managed to save and forced to work there. Like they did with you," Rick said, coming to stand next to Daryl who had not taken his eyes off of her, not for one second. "You and Daryl were together before the hospital. They took you, against your will - we had just... we had just finally found you. I'm guessing the doctor had someone else bury you - either the patients or the staff. They wouldn't have known you weren't... they wouldn't have thought to... you looked... even we thought... Beth, we're so sorry."

"I don't... remember anything... before," she said. "No point... in sorry. Not Beth. I'm not."

"Y'are Beth," Daryl said to her, anguish lacing his voice. "You are."

"I'm not... anyone," she responded evenly.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **_My thanks to everyone who has favorited or reviewed this story. I'm really enjoying writing it, and if no one was interested in it, it would've been really hard to justify keeping it going._

* * *

Inside. They were inside of the gates - cut off from the sprawling wasteland outside. Trapped. Morgan was off to the side, speaking in hushed tones to Rick. She stood awkwardly, gripping her knife, the one the blond man had attempted to take from her; Daryl had stopped him with a harsh word she had been unable to hear over the pounding of her own heart. Still, his tone cut through, like a rock sailing through glass.

She had been turning her own name over in her head again and again (_Beth, Beth!, Beth?_), when the sound of feet hitting ground had torn her out of it. A woman, slightly older than herself, with brown hair was running full steam ahead. A man followed her, gun strapped to his back, shouting her name.

"Maggie! Maggie! Slow down," he tried.

"Where is she?" the woman demanded right as her eyes landed on her. "Oh my God! Oh God! I can't believe you're here. I can't believe -"

"She don't remember anythin'," Daryl cut in. "She ain't got a damn clue who none of us are."

"But she's alive," the man said, then turned to her calmly. "I'm Glenn. I'm married to Maggie. She's your sister."

Sister; she knew the word - it was one of the few that hadn't got knocked out of her brain. Of course, like many words, she couldn't exactly remember it in relation to herself - so when the older woman had tried to wrap her arms around her, coming at her like a tornado of tears and amazement, she stumbled over her own feet to get away.

Though Maggie looked like she'd been slapped, she straightened up her shoulders, and gave a watery smile. Glenn took a couple of steps until he was standing next to his wife, hand rubbing up and down her back comfortingly.

"I'm sorry," Maggie said. "I didn't mean to... I just never thought I'd see you again. And honestly, I don't care if you don't remember me. We can make new memories. We can start over. Just as long as you're here - and you're here, so it's fine. It's great. It's so great."

"Nice... to meet," she forced out; she was unsure how to respond to Maggie's intensity. The woman was looking at her expectantly, so she added, "...great?"

"I'm sorry you had to wake up alone," Maggie said, tears now running down her cheeks.

"She didn't," Rick said as he and Morgan joined the conversation. "Morgan here got her out of there and took care of her. And when you're confused and without your family, he's a good person to have around. I oughta know."

"Well, I don't know how great I was. And I'm sure P. here could tell you some horror stories -"

"P?" Maggie asked.

"Oh, that's what she picked," Morgan said. "She couldn't remember so -"

"Phoenix," she said, interrupting him. "Phoenix. Not P."

"Phoenix?" Maggie asked, a laugh escaping her. "That is just like ya, Bethy. Why don't you two come with Glenn and I? We'll get y'all cleaned up for dinner!"

She followed the woman who was her sister. The woman she could not remember. As she was passing, she could see the bowman's hands twitch, fingers opening and closing by his thighs, as if wanting to reach for something. Wanting to hold on. She looked past him, to the house, and felt a pressure building on her chest.

She wanted to run. 

* * *

Dinner was small - just herself, Morgan, Maggie, Glenn, Rick, and Daryl. Her sister promised there were more people that were excited to see her. _Family, _Rick had called them - though she got the sense it was more of a broad term than literal. She had nodded politely, cutting into the meat that had been identified as deer. Daryl had caught it, though that hardly came as a surprise given how she'd seen him aiming his crossbow when they'd first met; the man was a hunter through and through.

Maggie did most of the talking. Rick threw in asides here and there, when not in conversation with Morgan. The only person who said less than her was Daryl. He stared at his plate, holding his fork so hard his knuckles were white. It made her uncomfortable, but sympathetic. She would rather be anywhere but here, and it looked as though he shared that feeling too.

"I want... to walk," she declared, pushing away from the table.

"I could show you around?" Maggie volunteered.

"No," she said quickly, trying not to notice the hurt in her sister's eyes. "Clear my head. Okay?"

"It's safe here," Rick said. "She'll be fine to take a walk around on her own."

"Staying with... Morgan," she pushed out. Living arrangements had yet to be made, but she wasn't leaving it until everything was settled without her and she was stuck bunking with her sister and Glenn. "Only person... I know."

"That's fine," Maggie assured her. "You two will be right next door to us. This is our house. You're in the one on the left."

Suddenly Daryl stood up from the table, smacking it with his leg, making the dishes rattle. He cursed under his breath, but said nothing else, exiting the room quickly and slamming the door behind him. She wanted to ask Rick what his friend's problem was, but couldn't stomach socializing one more minute.

She waited a minute or two at the door, hoping the bowman was gone. When she stepped outside, the cool night air greeted her. She breathed in deeply, tasting a little freedom, pushing herself far away from the house and the people inside of it. She walked around the property, noticing how large it was, feeling a little confused at the layout.

About a half hour had passed when she found herself sitting in a look-out post on the wall. On the other side were empty buildings, abandoned cars - and further off, trees, hinting at wilderness, where she had felt most at home. She ached to go there. To disappear into the night.

"Too high for jumpin'," a voice said, causing her to whip her head around.

She found Daryl standing on the plank leading up to her, cigarette burning in his mouth. He looked lost, like he didn't know what to say to her. Well, at least the feeling was mutual. She looked back at her hands, then past the walls again.

"Follow me?" she asked.

"What, girl?" he said, sitting down next to her, not close enough to touch.

"Did you... follow me?"

"Hate to break it to ya, but this here is my spot," he said, nodding toward the corner where there was over a dozen cigarette butts mashed into the wood.

"Oh," she said stupidly. "Sorry. Go?"

"Naw," he said, ashing with a graceful flick of his fingers. "Y'ain't gotta go."

"Okay," she said.

They sat like that in silence for a while. Him, smoking - her, wishing. Wishing she were still out on the road. Wishing no one had recognized her. Wishing she would never have to deal with all these expectations to be who she was, or to be better. Those two things were so far from her grasp they were damn near impossible, but the fact that she had survived seemed to spark a belief in miracles - she could see it in her sister's eyes.

"Morgan," Daryl said, "he been okay to ya? He seems a little... off."

"All are," she said with a huff.

"But he's treated ya alright? Right?" Daryl asked, eyes flicking over to her face. She could feel his gaze on the side of her cheek. "I know ya don't remember us, but if anything happened, y'could tell us."

"He... saved me," she pushed out. "Maybe not... all there. I'm not either. All there. But Morgan is... friend. All I know. Morgan is all... I know. He's... alright."

"Take your word for it, then," Daryl said, letting the subject drop easily. "Y'hate it here, huh?"

"... no," she tried.

"Y'wanna be out there," he said. "I know that look. But there ain't nothin' out there for ya. Maggie was right, y'know. Y'could start over."

"Life... doesn't work that way," she responded. "There is... no... over. No Beth. No... nothing. Just... this. This head. This... brain. This... broken."

"Y'ain't broken, girl," Daryl argued, anger seeping into his voice.

"You don't... know me."

"I knew ya before!" he said, fists clenching.

"Knew. Before. Before... bullet. Before... almost dead. Before... dark," she said, exhausting herself. "I need to... go."

"Don't," Daryl whispered, and then louder again, "just... don't."

"What?"

"Don't... disappear again," Daryl asked. "Stay here. With us. With all of us. With Morgan. We'll make it work for you. Just don't go again."

She was stunned at the emotion on his face. How he could go from completely shut down to an open wound - an open book. She read him like she knew him - had known him for a long, long time. Which, she guessed she had. Maybe it was muscle memory. Or maybe he was just a bad bluff.

"I go... where Morgan... goes," she said easily. "And he goes... where Rick goes."

"Goodnight, Phoenix," Daryl said, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

She climbed down the ladder, hitting the ground with both feet, making a satisfying thud. The walk back to the house wasn't as confusing and she found it with little problem. Morgan was sitting outside, talking to a man she hadn't met. She walked past them, going in the back way, shutting the door behind her. It wasn't until she was alone in kitchen of the house that she realized Daryl was the first person to ever call her by her name.


	5. Chapter 5

She couldn't sleep. The short dreams that came fed her insanity - flashes of things, bright and wild, like fire behind her eyes. She kicked the blankets off until they were on the floor and leaped to her feet. Her body felt alert - ready - strong. Like it wanted to go. Like it needed to fight. She clenched her fists, once, then twice, before she strolled right out of the little house.

_Get out, I've got to get out,_ her brain screamed at her. She took a deep breath, shaking her head. _No. Can't go. Morgan. People now... people would look for me. Can't go. Wouldn't get far. Maybe... if I was smart... but I can't leave Morgan. _

Her feet hit the ground, each step with her old shoes felt like falling apart. The torn laces. The wrecked heel. She wondered why she hadn't thrown them out - found new ones. No time, maybe. Or just not caring. Comfort - it seemed like such a luxury. The blisters fit this new world she found herself in. Ugly and hard, like everything inside of her.

It took her longer than she'd admit to hear the person behind her. The even steps. The cautious gait. At first she thought, _Morgan. _But no, Morgan wouldn't have followed her, and had he gotten the best of her, he wouldn't have let it go out of curiosity - just to see where she was going, or what she was doing. She grappled for the knife stuck into the belt of her pants and turned abruptly to find the archer, watching her with sharp eyes.

"Daryl," she breathed out.

He was standing with his crossbow slung over his back. She watched him rub the back of his neck, ears turning red. _Busted. _He pulled the dying cigarette out of his mouth and stomped it out on the ground. She watched the back and forth of his boot in the dry dirt.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Just saw ya walkin'."

"Why follow?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

"Wanted to make sure you were alright," he said. "It's late out. Y'should be sleepin'."

She shrugged her shoulders, not saying anything. She turned to walk, expecting him to disappear into the shadows, but instead he fell into step beside her. She didn't mind his company. Daryl was quiet. It was almost like being alone, but not quite. She wondered if he was waiting for her to say something. She peeked up at him, finding him looking at the dark sky.

"I'm not..." she struggled to speak. "Not big talker."

"Ain't complainin'," he said easily. "Just... nice to see ya. Thought I wouldn't again. Was startin' to forget..."

"Forget?"

"Your face," Daryl said. "I remembered how... it felt, bein' with ya, how ya made me... feel. But time... maybe the pain of losin' ya like that... your face just kinda burned up in my memories."

"How... did you feel?" she risked asking. The way he looked at her, the way he was talking... she couldn't help but wonder... "Were we... love?"

"I ain't good with words," Daryl said. "We weren't together back then. Wasn't your boyfriend - wouldn't know a damn thing about bein' someone's boyfriend... ya just... meant a lot to me."

"Not... love?" she asked.

"Don't matter how I felt," he said frustrated with her. "Y'saved me though. After all the shit went down, ya dragged my ass back t'life. I wanted to just stop, and give up, and y'wouldn't let me."

"What was... Beth... like?" she asked him, eyebrows furrowing.

"Strong. Smart. Hopeful."

"Me?" she asked.

"Yeah. Ya sang a lot. Watched after Rick's daughter like she was yer own. Put everyone 'fore yourself. But... there was more t'ya then that. Ya were stubborn. Angry, sometimes, too. Mostly with me. Wild. We burned down a house together," he said with a fond smile. It was the first time she had seen him really smile, and it almost took her breath away.

"Why?" she asked, confused.

"Ya wanted to," he said. "So did I."

"Maybe that's... why..." she said, talking more to herself than to him.

"Why what?"

"I keep... seeing... it," she struggled, breath quickening at the thought.

"Seeing what, girl?" Daryl asked, voice demanding her answer. "Ya seein' things? We got a doc here, he could -"

"No," she said, shaking her head, feeling dizzy. She was quick to cut off his concern, seeing the worry written plainly on her face. _Morgan was right, she needed to start talking in full sentences. _"Just... dreams. There's always... fire. Smoke... fire. I see it... every night."

"Oh," he said. Daryl shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at her. "Am I there, too? In the dreams."

She tried to avoid the way he was looking at her. Daryl's eyes were almost begging her to say yes. To find some thread between her and the girl he spoke so fondly of. For a minute, a dumb, short minute, she even wanted to say yes.

"No," she said. "I... I'm talking in them... to someone. Don't know... who."

"What're you saying?" he asked.

"Change..." she says softly. "I wish I could just... change."

And when Daryl smiles this time, there's no almost about it - there's not a lick of air left in her lungs. It staggers her to knows the archer's been there the whole time, inside of her broken brain somewhere. That through injury and illness and amnesia, she had been holding onto Daryl so tightly that he had survived where _she _hadn't. Then suddenly, the truth came washing over her like a tidal wave, leaving her cold and shaking:

Beth had loved him.

This girl she used to be, she loved this man, this archer, standing in front of her now, smiling. His rough edges, his angel wings. Beth had loved him, and held onto that one moment - she could see it more clearly now, like a movie playing, only the scenes still jumped a little. Shoulder to shoulder... her and Daryl. Their middle fingers in the air. Setting the world on fire. 


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: **_Bet you all thought I forgot about this story - and you'd be totally right - so I'm sorry!_

* * *

Two days. Two long, unbearable days. Two days of Daryl watching her, maybe not saying much, but always watching. Two days of her sister forgetting she was no longer Beth - bringing up old stories, only to go, _Oh! I'm sorry! _Two days of walls closing in on her.

Morgan was happy - seemed more like a person, less like a machine. Rick softened him. She was thankful for that. She didn't need to worry about him breaking quite as much. Morgan's intense eyes had settled easily into an intelligent, satisfied glow. He wasn't like her anymore. She could feel it. Humanity was slipping back into him, filling all those empty spaces she had related too so completely.

And here she was, at three in the morning, adrift. Like a red balloon floating in the sky, destined to be lost forever. Destined to be apart forever. Them and her. Always. Different. Always. Wrong. Forever. She looked at the wall in silence, making sure she had not been followed. Everyone was sleeping, even the archer; save for some poor soul sitting watch on the south side by the gates, she was totally alone.

Easy enough to shimmy up, she thought. Not to leave - not for long - just for some time. Outside. By herself. To fight, and run, and live. To do something she knew how to do - unlike being Beth, or a sister, or a something-that-meant-a-lot.

She had left Morgan a note. Just something they had used to do. A shaky P. so he knew she would be back. It was a promise. She knew she couldn't go anywhere now. Couldn't leave. And that was what made her skin so itchy, her soul - whatever was left of it - so restless. Like an animal caught in trap, gnawing off its own leg to be free. She needed to feel free. Just for a little while.

It took a couple of tries until she had climbed the wall and lowered herself down on the other side. Finally, it felt like she could breathe. The empty streets called to her. The trees. The cars. Every little bit of this destruction. Every little bit of this gone and terrible. She smiled, felt the tug of her lips, and laughed quietly in the night with her brandished knife and not much else.

* * *

It was a sunny, bright morning. Daryl, like every day since Beth had found her way back to them, was in a good mood. A happy mood. A lucky mood. Unfortunately dread snuck up on him when he saw Maggie and Morgan outside Beth's house, talking animatedly. Changing his direction, he stopped by the pair who didn't notice him at first, so intent on their discussion.

"P. does this a lot," Daryl heard Morgan say to a distraught Maggie. "She'll be fine, I promise. She can take of herself."

His feet moved of their own accord until he was planted firmly next to the older Greene sister. Daryl could hear his heart thundering in his ears, and clamped a hand onto the crossbow he had been carrying slung over his back and pulled it around until it was hanging at his side.

"P. does what a lot?" Daryl asked, voice tight.

"She's gone, Daryl," Maggie said, tears coating her voice. "I went to see her this morning and Morgan told me she had gone off on her own out there!"

"The hell you talkin' 'bout?" Daryl ground out, fighting against the urge to run past the gates to look for the blonde hair he would've recognized anywhere. _God damn it, girl! _

"She left a note," Morgan said almost casually - completely unbothered. It made Daryl's free hand clench into a fist he had to stop himself from throwing. "She'll be back. Probably just wanted some time to think. Being here... it was a lot for her before she realized y'all were..."

"I'll find her," Daryl said to Maggie, not taking his eyes off of Morgan. "She ain't stayin' with ya anymore. If ya can't look after her -"

"She doesn't need anyone to look after her. You know that," Morgan countered quietly. "You all have to know that by now."

Daryl growled low in his throat, the sound animalistic and almost surprising. He turned to Maggie, who nodded and pushed at his arm with her hands. Faster than he would've thought possible Daryl was out the gates, looking for tracks, looking for anything.

_Keep calm, Dixon,_ he thought to himself. _She's smart. She's tough._ _She's gonna be just fine. She's gonna be just fine. _He wandered for what felt like hours. Going this way, then that - picking up parts of tracks and losing them again. _Where the fuck is she? I'm gonna kill Morgan if anythin' happens to her. _

His body went numb when he saw it. His feet stopped, right along with his heart. Her knife. On the ground. Blood and guts on it. And no Beth - no Phoenix - no P - no girl. No one. He twirled around in a couple of different directions, head swimming with panic. Unthinkingly he ran, not knowing where he was going, until he saw her.

Two walkers dead at her small feet, and a third a bit further back. She was wielding a part of one of their bones like a knife. There was gore in her hair - blood so thick and heavy it seemed to paint her skin black. And she was grinning - strange, and wrong, and eerie. Eyes alight with laughter. Body barely showing the strain of her fight.

"Found it," she said to him.

"What?" he responded stupidly, not sure how to approach her, or what to say.

"Knife," she said, tilting her head towards his hand. "Mine. You found... it."

"What the hell are y'doing out here, girl?" he said, more to himself than her.

"Feels... better," she said. "Makes me... feel better."


	7. Chapter 7

She didn't know how to describe the way the archer was staring at her. There was relief, yes, but something else - like loss, or horror, or fear. Like maybe the girl he remembered was no longer the woman standing in front of him. _Good,_ she thought, _take a long look. _

"Put it down," Daryl said gruffly.

"What?" she asked, not understanding, still high off the fight. The restless ball of anxiety that had been eating away at her had loosened - almost disappeared. She felt like she could breathe again. "Put... down?"

"The bone, girl!" he growled. "Put the damn bone down."

"Worked," she said with an easy shrug and dropped it on the ground. She wiped her bloody palms on her jeans, but it did little to clean them as the pants were caked in the same.

"Y'got everyone worried 'bout ya," he said.

"Ha."

"What's funny?" he asked, offering her knife to her hilt first.

"Everyone," she said. "Not Morgan. Not worried."

"Well maybe he oughta be!" he snapped back.

"Take care... of... myself," she said, raising her chin, planting her fists on her hips. "Dropped knife. Made knife. Can take care of myself."

"Ya can't be runnin' off like that!" he shouted. "Y'could've died! Don't you get that? We don't go past the walls alone!"

"You did," she responded, starting to walk back towards the fences.

"I been alive a lot longer than you, girl," he said. "I seen more. I done more. I know more."

"You... left for dead?" she asked sharply, whipping around to stare at him. "Shot in head... left by... family? You buried... still breathing? Wake up with... stranger? Everything missing?"

"... Beth," he said, his voice pained and small in a way that she had never heard it before, "we never..."

"Not Beth," she growled, pushing bloody strands of blond out of her face. "Beth... stupid. Beth gone. You... and Maggie... and everyone... let it go. Let her go. She's dead. You left... her."

* * *

Daryl didn't say anything the whole walk back - what was there to say? When they got into Alexandria, Beth pushed past her sister, and Rick, and Morgan and headed into her house. There was a long moment of stunned silence as everyone looked after the small girl, trying to reconcile all the blood with her survival instead of demise. Then suddenly Maggie walked towards him, eyes burning with questions.

"What the hell happened to her?"

"I found her," Daryl said, "she killed a bunch of walkers. She said it made her feel better."

Daryl thought it was best to leave out the part about the dropped knife and the bone. The older Greene didn't need to worry more than she already was. And even if he wanted to, he wasn't sure how to convey just how far Beth was from everything he thought he knew about her. How changed she was. She was always tough, but she was never... this.

He heard himself so clearly in the echo of her words. It made her feel better to kill walkers. He remembered how far down he was when he needed that kind of release. How in pain he was - how scared he was - how alone he felt. Like he had lost everything. And he could remember her standing there, whole and covered in expensive clothes, and how the blood splatter had ruined it all - made her look like she wanted to cry. She had been the light that had saw him through that time, but who was going to see her through? Him? He could hear Merle laughing.

"She's always been a good fighter," Morgan said, walking up to the duo. "It calms her down. She usually doesn't take off on her own, not in a while, but things have been hard for her here."

"Maybe she oughta stay with Glenn and I from now on," Maggie said.

"She isn't going to like that," Morgan pointed out.

"What do you think, Daryl?"

"I don't know," he said. "I just... I gotta get hunting and I promised Aaron I'd help him today. Already late."

"Daryl!" Maggie called after him as he walked away.

"I don't know, Maggie!" he shouted. "You're her sister. I ain't nothin' to that girl."

* * *

"You have Maggie spooked," Glenn said, standing outside the bathroom hallway, waiting for his sister-in-law to emerge.

"Didn't mean... to scare," she responded, toweling off her hair. "I needed... to clear... my head. Think with... the hole it would be... easier."

"Do you not like it here?" Glenn asked.

"Don't... trust it," she said.

"None of us do, but we're trying to fit in. These people need us. They haven't been outside since the start."

"Don't remember... the start," she said. "Just... this."

"I know this is a stupid question after all you've been through, but is something wrong?" Glenn asked. "Something must've pushed you over the edge to have you take off like that and come back looking... well, you know..."

"Daryl," she said quietly.

"He can be a little short with people sometimes. He took your... when we thought you were... he took it really hard."

"No," she said. "He didn't... do anything. I just... he's... it."

"He's it?"

"He's... it," she said, not feeling like further clarifying. How would she explain that Beth... that she... had held onto just one memory. One thing. And it wasn't her family, or the farm Maggie talked about - it was a burning shack and their shoulders almost touching. How could she tell her sister's husband that all she could remember were those few inches separating her and Daryl? That she could still feel them in her sleep, wanting to close the space between them, trying like hell to get closer?

There were no words, and if there had been once, Before, they had long since left her mind.


	8. Chapter 8

_The first time she woke up there was fear - dark and primal - the instinct of survival; black spots eating up her vision until there was nothing left. She wanted to scream. Knew words, some, that came to her as flashes: Go! Help! Let me go! Die! It hurts! _

_She tried, but nothing came out from between her chapped lips. Almost immediately she sunk back into fever dream where everything was burning. Sometimes they were different - sometimes she was running - but they always hurt her lungs, which ached with every labored breath._

_The man who hovered above her and the man in her dreams, the one that she could never quite see, only spoke to, seemed to morph together - trading this feature for that, melting at the edges, and washing away until she was alone - always alone - wishing she could just... change. Inside her mind there were popping embers and collapsing walls, but she could tell it wasn't real. Wasn't true. _

_That she couldn't stay. _

_She had somewhere to be._

* * *

The table was set and filled with people. Morgan, Rick. Sitting next to her was Maggie - her husband Glenn. Rick's son Carl, who watched her intently, as though she was a mirage that might disappear. She wondered if this is how it would be from now on. Adding one person at a time until she knew them all again by name. And there, at the other end of the table, was the archer's empty chair. She knew her gaze was lingering, but couldn't stop herself.

"Daryl left," Maggie told her quietly. "Just for a trip with Aaron, to get supplies, hunt, that kind of stuff."

"Because... me?"

"Maybe," Maggie said. "I don't know what is going on between you two."

"Nothing," she said, moving around the canned green beans on her plate with her fork. "I yelled... at him."

"Isn't anyone in this room who hasn't had a shouting match with a Dixon at some point."

"Di... Di...?" she tried, mouth not wanting to co-operate.

"Oh, that's his last name. Daryl Dixon," Maggie said. "He had an older brother, Merle, who was a real piece of work. Daryl lost him to walkers."

"Sad," she said softly, trying to picture a man she could not remember, being lost to the only man she could.

"We're all better off without Merle, in my opinion," Maggie said, bitterness lacing her voice.

"Still," she said. "Fam... family."

"Yeah," Maggie agreed, smoothing her hand over the length of her sister's blonde ponytail. "Family..." 

* * *

_"You gotta have more than that in you!" Morgan shouted at her. _

_Her head was pounding. Always pounding. The pain made it hard to see - so did the sweat dripping down into her eyes. Everything in her body was telling her to stop. Stop. Lay down. Every muscle screamed for mercy, but still she pushed, because this was not a world where you could stop. Where you could lay down. Or beg for mercy. _

_She set her jaw, lifted her chin. Pain was only in the mind. There was so much pain in her mind there was no room for anything else - clawing, biting, scratching at her grey matter - begging to be cried out. But she didn't cry. Not anymore._

_"They're come atcha," he told her. "What you gonna do?" _

_"Kill," she snarled, knees shaking, wanting to collapse. _

_"What we gonna do?" he demanded. _

_"Clear!" she shouted, knife ready in hand as the walker staggered towards her, picking up its clumsy speed - smelling food - she was not food. She lodged the knife in its head deeply, pushing with all her strength. It was not a clean kill. Not her most graceful - but it was a kill. It was kill or be killed, and she was not the killed. "Clear!"_

_"Again."_

* * *

She sat in the empty house. Morgan was outside. She could hear his voice through the open window - the deep, compelling swell of it, carried on the night wind. And inside of her, she ached for something she could not name. Maybe what had been before, or what could never be now - she wasn't sure - she only knew her heart, which had felt dead for so long, was filled to the brim with _something. _

"You alright?" Morgan asked when he came inside, seeing her sitting on the couch, face contemplative.

There was a long stretch of silence. She considered lying. Morgan could always tell though, and there was no reason to lie to him. He had seen her - every broken bit of her - every fucked up piece of her - and there was no where left to hide.

"No."

"What's wrong?" he asked, sitting in the armchair facing her.

"Me," she said quietly.

"You'll get used to the hang of things around here, P.," he told her, "it's just going to take some time. Hell, I still sleep with my knife under my pillow. It'll get better."

When she didn't respond, Morgan only sighed heavily and left her to her thoughts. He knew enough not to press. Not with her. Through the window she could see glimpses of the sky, but there was no moon tonight. Only a deep, dark void that seemed to grow deeper and darker the longer she looked at it. 

* * *

_She dreamed of white keys. Black keys. Her fingers understanding, and stroking, filled with knowledge and something else - something she had lost the word for - maybe passion - maybe soul. The flickering of candlelight, and a voice, that must've been her voice. She could feel it falling out of her, like rain from a cloud._

_"And we'll buy beer to shotgun _  
_and we'll lay in the lawn_  
_and we'll be good..."_

_And somewhere, in the space that existed behind her, she could feel him watching her. His gaze warm and open. Daryl and Beth. Her hands clammy with the effort not to ruin it - this moment - because this was so clearly a moment - so clearly something - and she wanted it. _

_God, how she wanted it. _

_"Now I'm laughing at my boredom_  
_And my string of failed attempts..."_


	9. Chapter 9

Three days. It took three impossibly long days for Daryl to walk through that gate again. She didn't know what she would say to him - if she should even try to say anything at all to him - and if she should, where she would find the words. Maggie was the one who had alerted her to his presence, pulling her aside when she was just leaving the house.

"Daryl's back," she told her. "Thought you'd want to know."

"He... okay?"

"The pair of them are okay, and we'll be having deer for dinner."

"Thanks," she told her sister. "Gonna... inside..."

She had been shut up in the house since. It didn't matter that she had promised Morgan she would train, or Carl she would meet his little sister Judith. She didn't know how to face the man she had unleashed all her pent up anger at. Part of her knew it wasn't fair - but a bigger part of her, right in that moment, didn't care. Maybe most of her still didn't care. They had left her - they _had, _but it still felt like trying to convince herself - trying to absolve herself for becoming what she had became.

Outside the window, she could see Daryl speaking to Rick. He was whole and unhurt. In need of a shower and maybe a better meal or two, but still, he was alive. And himself. And she was a ghost haunting them all that maybe would've been better off left behind. A memory to keep, to turn over, to remember fondly, or even forget. Anything would've been better than this.

Daryl's sharp eyes turned towards her window and regarded her evenly. She didn't move. Didn't flinch. Watched him just as steadily in return. He said something to Rick, who in turn turned looked towards the window to smile, and turn back to him, hands gesturing as he continued to speak. When the pair finally parted, Daryl nodded in her direction - so slightly anyone else would've missed it - and walked away.

She turned away and walked into the living room, twisting her hands in front of her. Her thoughts were racing, mixing with fragments of recovered memories and dreams, making her sick to her stomach with nerves. She didn't know how to do this - had never fought with someone before, except for Morgan - and their fights weren't personal. Words didn't wound them, only sparked anger and pushed them further when they needed to go further. This though, was a tender bruise.

It seemed to happen unconsciously that she found herself standing in front of the bathroom mirror. She regarded her blue eyes - the blonde hair - her scars. She opened her mouth and shut it again. Tilted her head. Concentrated.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I... I'm sorry. Sorry. I'm sorry."

She growled, a frustrated sound. She hated speaking. How her words came out jumbled, hesitant - if at all. It made everything harder. Made her sound stupid. Slow. She knew it. She preferred the silence. Not getting close to anyone. Not having to say anything. No one asking you to say anything. But now she needed words.

"Was wrong. I was... wrong. Wasn't... wasn't... fair. You didn't... leave me on... on purpose. Accident. Bad accident. Not fair... to say things I... said. I said them. I'm sorry. Just... angry. So... angry. So angry. Don't want to be... like this. I wish... I want to go... back... sometimes. To her. Beth. To... me -"

She broke off, sobbing low in her throat, tears pushing past her eyes. She cried on the bathroom floor for a long time. Until her chest ached and it hurt to breathe. She heard Morgan outside the door, then Maggie, then nothing. For a long time there was nothing. And still she cried, mourning, grieving - wanting with everything inside of her to be different. To change.

"I wish..." she said quietly to herself, "... just change."

When the tears that had seemed like they would never stop finally did, she washed her face with cold water, feeling her eyes swollen and stinging. She looked worse than before. She took her hair out of its ponytail, brushed it back with her fingers, and pulled it back up. She knew she would have some explaining to do. Rolling her shoulders, she looked at her reflection once more.

"Sorry," she said to herself again, practicing. "I am... sorry."

When she opened the door, she was startled to see Daryl. He had been sitting next to the door, knees drawn up half-way, resting his arms on them. She felt a sharp pang of embarrassment, wondering how much he had heard, or what he had been told to get him here, sitting on her floor. He looked up at her, not moving to stand, eyes cautious.

"Y'alright?" he asked her.

"Sorry," she squeaked out, hating the way it sounded. "For... things I said. Before you... went... away. Sorry. Wasn't fair. Wasn't... right."

"Y'ain't gotta apologize to me," Daryl said. "You have your reasons for bein' pissed off. I shouldn'ta just taken off like that. I was pissed too."

"Sorry," she said again, sitting in front of him.

"Not at you," he said with a quiet huff. "At me. At everyone. At what happened - what we let happen. And y'were just gone. Like that. Again."

"I -"

"And I get it," Daryl told her. "Believe me. I get it. This place... it wasn't for me at the start - hell, it still ain't. I still gotta get out. Be out there. I still gotta fight - I can't pretend these walls will keep what's out there... out there. Not forever. I can't just play house. I can't blame everyone for wanting to, but I can't."

"Still... sorry."

"Alright. Then me too. I was just... worried about ya. I'm not great at the sharing thing either. Talkin' 'bout feelings. You got on my ass about it before, right up in my face, so this ain't exactly our first time chewin' each other out."

"I don't... wanna... be this way," she said, not looking at him.

"You're not so different," he told her, sliding his hand into hers and squeezing it gently. "Y'always were a force to be reckoned with. Just now, everyone knows it. Including you."

"Thank you... for..." she faltered, throat thick with tears again, "...coming back."

"Could say the same t'you, girl."


End file.
